Delusional
by lumaluma
Summary: Yet another stressful G8 summit for our favourite countries. Once the meetings are over, France tries to avoid England, not wanting to start a fight for once. But will he be successful...? Bah, of course not! Very heavy UkFr/FrUk.


_Slight warnings for foul language and slight masochism/hair pulling fetish. Yeah, I went there. Enjoy the smut, guys and gals! Not much fluff here, even though it's Valentine's Day._

* * *

Another G8 summit was just beginning, and all the eight nations had been forced to accompany their bosses. Italy was hosting, so at least the atmosphere was a little more relaxed than it usually was. But even so, as the first day of meetings drew to a close, tensions were high. England was alternating between wanting to throttle America and France, who were being respectively obnoxiously noisy and intentionally disagreeable.

England's boss tried half-heartedly to calm him down, but he was looking even more stressed out than usual, his hair mussed up and very prominent bags under his eyes. France's boss, for his part, was texting his wife under the table, and from what France could tell, it was about their after-dinner plans. Italy's boss was giving a concluding speech (that honestly, no one was listening to), and finally waved his hand dismissively.

"Okay, we're done here. All you nations are dismissed for the day, but we leaders are having dinner here at seven-thirty. Security reasons, I'm sure you understand."

Canada's boss rolled his eyes, muttering something passive-aggressive about how people in _his_ country never had to worry about danger to public officials, and America's boss hid a smirk behind his hand. Italy's boss cleared his throat. "Ahem. As I was saying, you will probably need to stick around until then. So, the meetings are done for the day."

All the nations jumped up from their chairs, happy to be free at last. France bumped shoulders with England as they left the room, and they both glared at each other. America and Italy were the only ones really talking, and they were just yakking about the best restaurants in the area. France listened in a bit, but only so he wouldn't end up going to the same place for dinner. He didn't really care where he ate as long as it got him away from the rest of these people. He was already tired of their faces, after only one day of conferences, and he had a feeling that if he and England had one more unpleasant encounter, they would likely end up strangling each other.

So he went to a small bistro for dinner, trying to enjoy the chaos of the world outside of meetings and dreadful hours locked in rooms with nothing interesting to distract himself from Germany's boring speeches. Well, he could always antagonize England, but his boss glared at him reproachfully when he was obvious about it, the spoilsport.

When France finally got back to the hotel it was quite late, and he hoped all the other nations had already retired for the night. He walked up the stairs, choosing to forgo the elevator in case someone like Russia – or, god forbid, _America_ – was taking it at that moment in time. It was a good thing he decided that, because when he reached his floor and started down the hallway to his room, the elevator doors open and out stepped England.

France decided to ignore him, figuring it would cause nothing but trouble if he said anything. But England must have been in a particularly foul mood, because he looked down his nose at France and pursed his lips. "Not even going to acknowledge me? How rude. Can't say I'm surprised, though."

France rolled his eyes. "I didn't say anything. I don't exactly know how you can find that offensive."

"You're supposed to greet people you know, even if you don't like them."

"England, the last time I said hello to you, you accused me of ogling you and threatened to beat me senseless."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really." France sighed. He wasn't in the mood to fight for once, he was just rather stressed out and wanted to get back to his room and have a nice long bath. He planned to escape England by stopping at his room and letting the Englishman walk past him, but no such luck. England stopped at the exact same spot, fishing in his pocket for his room key. France sighed again. Now, whose brilliant idea was it to place them in rooms across from each other?

England was glaring at him for some reason, and France rolled his eyes. "Please, what did I do _now?_"

"You're an arrogant prick and I hate you."

France bristled. He was already in a bad mood, and even if he didn't feel like getting into a fistfight, he would at last fight with words. "And you're a pathetic, pompous brat."

"Well, you're an idiotic pervert!"

"At least I actually get some, instead of just walking around with a stick up my ass all the time."

England crossed his arms. "Excuse me? I do _not_ have a stick up my ass!"

"Well, maybe it's a broom handle or a cucumber, I wouldn't know." France shrugged.

"Why you…" England lunged at France, who sidestepped him with a laugh.

"Blinded by rage, as always. After all these years, you still don't know how to fight?"

"Sod off, you!" England lunged at him again and actually managed to get ahold of France's shirt this time, shaking him back and forth and hissing, "You absolute _arsehole._"

"You started it! If I didn't know better, I'd say you just wanted an excuse to get your hands on me." France pried England's hands off of him and patted him on the shoulder. "There, there. I wouldn't blame you, either. I am quite irresistible, after all."

"Self-centered tosser, I don't want you anywhere near me!" England growled, and then shoved France away from him. "Honestly, you're worse than a Swiss in bed."

France narrowed his eyes. Now _that_ was just asking for it. "_Excuse_ me?"

"You heard me. You're worse than-" England was cut off as France shoved him back, pinning him against the wall.

"That's a lie and you know it."

"How would you know?" England pushed him, placing his hands firmly on France's chest and keeping him at arm's length. France grabbed England by the collar, yanking him forward and looking him right in the eyes.

"Oh, it has nothing to do with the fact that you come running to _me_ when you're absolutely desperate for release, begging for my cock and throwing yourself at me."

"Shut up." England pulled away, glaring at France. "You've come to me as well."

"Ah, but that's because I like seeing the faces you make. You come to me because no one else will have you, am I right?"

England snarled at him, balling a fist into France's shirt and raising a fist to punch him. "Say that again, I dare you."

"I said I like the faces you make. Is there anything wrong with that?"

"Not that, you bastard!"

France pushed England back, pinning him against the wall and smirking at how he struggled. England tried to knee him in the groin, so France slammed his head against the wall. England looked stunned, blinking for a couple seconds, and France stepped back. Oh, shit. If he gave England a concussion, he'd never hear the end of it from his boss. "Sorry, did that-"

"Shut up," England growled under his breath, his eyes narrowed and glimmering dangerously. He slid his hands into France's hair and yanked him into a kiss.

Oh, so _that's_ what this was all about. When the fighting turned sexual, France knew it meant that England was both extremely pissed off and extremely turned on. England forced France's lips against his own, still pulling on his hair.

France groaned softly and moved his head back for a second. "You're going to want to stop that. You know what it does to me."

"Shut up and kiss me, you bastard." England pulled him back in, not releasing his hold on France's hair, and the Frenchman could feel his eyelids starting to flutter a little with pleasure. As embarrassing as it was, he couldn't deny that he loved having his hair pulled. England would take advantage of it whenever he could, whether they were fighting each other on the battlefield or just having private negotiations between the two of them.

Of course, England had his own weakness, and France knew just how to exploit it. He shoved his tongue into England's mouth to distract him, narrowly avoiding getting it bitten. At the same time, he removed England's hands from his head, quickly clasping both of his wrists in one hand and twisting them behind England's back. The Englishman pulled his mouth away from France's to cry out softly, but not in pain. His voice trailed off into a breathy sigh, and France nudged his knee in between England's legs.

He was hard and twitching, and France chuckled, pressing his lips against England's ear. "I see you still like pain a little too much, _Angleterre_."

"S-shut up." England glared at him, struggling against his grip, but France could tell he wasn't really trying. He lowered his face to England's neck, nipping lightly at his jaw.

"Why would I shut up? My voice doesn't seem to bother you. Quite the contrary, actually, I think you like it when I speak French. _C'est vrai, non?_"

"Shut _up!_" England yanked his hands out of France's grasp and tried to move away, only succeeding in smacking his head against the wall again. He bit his lip and slumped down a little, closing his eyes. "F-fuck…"

"Is that an offer?"

England glared at France, but one of his hands shot out and cupped France's crotch, causing the Frenchman to gasp. "Figure it out, frog."

France smiled, letting his eyelids sink to half-mast as England rubbed him through his pants. "I would _love _to, _mon Anglais_." He pulled England away from the wall, slipping a hand up England's shirt and wrapping an arm around England's waist, when he heard a voice from down the hall.

"Dude, I _know._ I swear, I gained like, ten pounds tonight. The food's just too good, right?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean. It's a good thing we have conferences in England sometimes, eh?"

"Totally. We'd all be _super_ fat if they were in Italy or France all the time."

It was America and Canada, apparently just now returning from dinner. France and England froze, looked down the hall, and then back at each other. "_Shit,_" England hissed, and France fished around in his pocket for his room key. When he found it, he grabbed England by the tie, unlocked the door, and dragged him into the room.

They slammed the door just as America and Canada came around the corner, and both sighed in relief. Neither of them wanted the nations they had raised to witness what they got up to when they were alone. Especially because America couldn't keep his mouth shut to save his life.

France realised he was still holding England by his tie, and, deciding to provoke him just a little, he tugged lightly, pulling England closer to him and kissing his neck. "Not putting up a fight? This isn't like you, _cher_."

"Oh really?" England slipped out of his tie somehow, leaving France with a useless piece of fabric in his hand, and lunged for his neck, nipping him and muttering, "You were saying?"

"Nothing."

Oh, this was going to be _fun_.

France unbuttoned the top button on England's shirt, frowning when the other man swatted his hand away. "Hands off, pervert."

"You're one to talk." To prove his point, France twisted one of England's nipples through his shirt rather roughly. England moaned, then slapped a hand over his mouth. France laughed, but that turned into a quiet whine when England's free hand twisted into his hair.

"You were saying…?" England smirked maliciously, and France glared at him.

"Shut your mouth, _rosbif._"

"Make me."

France took that literally, pulling England to him by the front of the shirt, and their mouths met in a harsh kiss, teeth clacking together, the two of them biting at each other's lips. France tossed England's tie somewhere across the room and dropped his hands to squeeze England's ass. England's hands travelled down to his hips, and they broke apart.

"So," England murmured, "It's going to be one of _those_ nights, isn't it?"

France nodded. "First one pinned to the bed loses."

England chuckled darkly. "Works for me."

Nights like this, they would fight fiercely for dominance, even though they both knew damn well that either way they would both end up fully satisfied. Still, it was just too much fun to do this, to use each other's weaknesses to get in control.

France, for his part, pushed England against the door and shoved his leg in between England's, rubbing it against his groin until England was grinding back against it, eyelids fluttering, his cock straining against his pants. He seemed to realise what France was doing and stopped, wiggling away and grabbing France by the front of the shirt.

Now France was pushed up against a wall, and England's hands were down the back of his pants, squeezing his ass, and his tongue traced the outside of France's ear. "Did you really think I'd go down that easily?"

"No, but I hoped you would." France tilted his head back subconsciously, and England kissed down his neck, unbuttoning France's shirt with one hand and stopping to suck on his collarbone. France groaned quietly, then regained his thoughts and pushed England off, shoving him up against the dresser and rutting against him from behind.

England moaned, and France reached around him to undo his belt and pants, slipping a hand inside to grip him tightly. England wiggled his hips, moving himself against France, and the Frenchman paused for a second. England was being too easy. Normally he'd be struggling and cursing by now.

France flipped him around, and England smirked. Shit, he'd been planning something. "Thank you for making this easier, France." England shimmied out of his pants, kicking them off, and then unbuttoned his shirt. He tossed it away, and France took advantage of that to pin his arms against the dresser and bite his neck. England tilted his head to the side a bit, giving France better access, and he made a quiet sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan.

France pulled back. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing." England freed his arms from France's grip, and his hands flew up to cup France's face. "Nothing at all." He kissed France, but much softer this time, and France knew he was up to something.

Then England's hands tangled in his hair, tugging just slightly, and France moaned. He tried to pull away, but England kept him there, exploring his mouth with his tongue and pulling his hair gently, in such a way that France couldn't help it anymore. He slumped against England, shivering slightly, holding onto the other man to steady himself. With every soft, terribly arousing tug of his hair, he felt his erection throb, his resolve slowly disappearing.

England laughed quietly, breaking away from the kiss to smile triumphantly at France. "Do you forfeit?"

Part of France wanted to snarl at England and knock him to the ground, but part of him wanted to just submit, knowing that it would be more than satisfying if he did. And that part was getting stronger and stronger by the second. So he sighed, resting his hands on England's arms and looking away. "For tonight, yes."

"Excellent." England let go of France, kissing him sweetly but biting his bottom lip as he pulled away. "Well, what are we waiting for?" He gestured to the bed. France shrugged off his shirt and sat on the bed, waiting for England. The other nation laughed and shook his head. "Oh, come on. You know you want this, so at least act like it."

France raised an eyebrow. So, England wanted a show, did he? He lay back in the middle of the bed, slowly taking off his belt and unbuttoning his pants. He slipped a hand inside, stroking himself and looking at England with half-lidded eyes. "Hurry up, or I'll just take care of this myself."

"You wouldn't dare." England climbed onto the bed, yanking France's pants off and throwing them across the room. "Oh, look at this." He ran a finger over the bulge in France's underpants, stroking the damp patch that had formed. "You've gotten nice and wet for me."

France let his head fall back on the bed as England dipped his hand into the slit of his underwear and pumped him a few times. England leaned in close, murmuring, "But as much as I'd _love_ to see you squirm around as I sucked you off, I think I'd much rather fuck you into the bed."

France sucked in his breath sharply. England didn't talk like that very often, but when he did, it meant he was _really_ turned on. France lifted his head up to see England crouching over him, hair sticking up all over the place, his eyes dark with lust. Damn. He was starting to feel glad he had decided to just give in.

England held out a few fingers to him. "Suck."

France took the fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them and getting them nice and slick with saliva. England pulled France's underpants down, and France lifted up his hips to help him get the damn things off. England dropped them on the floor and took his fingers out of France's mouth. "Well, come on. Spread your legs."

France rolled his eyes but obliged, hooking one leg around England's hip to pull him closer. "Then you'd better get _these_ things out of the way." He tugged on the waistband of England's underwear, and the other man laughed quietly.

"In due time. Right now, I'd much rather watch the faces you make." He slid a finger inside of France, who relaxed as much as he could. He knew exactly what to do, and by the time England had found his sweet spot, he was ready for more.

"Another," he murmured, moving back against England's finger and sighing with pleasure when another digit worked its way inside of him. But it just didn't feel quite right… something was missing. England was spreading him open slowly, gently, and France realized that he wanted the exact opposite. "Hey," he said, sitting up, "Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Being so nice."

England sighed in relief, and suddenly his fingers were moving faster, sending short, harsh stabs right against France's prostate, causing pleasure to shoot up his spine. England pushed him down flat on the bed, pulling his own underwear down with one hand. "I thought you'd never ask."

He pulled out his fingers, yanked France's legs all the way open, and plunged inside as deep as he could. France moaned, his hands flying to England's shoulders. It wasn't gentle and sweet anymore, not at all. Now it was all about the hatred and the need for release, the harsh pleasure France knew damn well he could only get from England, and that England knew he could only get from France.

Everything felt hypersensitive, like his nerve endings were tingling all over. When England's nails dug into his hips, he felt only pleasure. When England leaned in for a kiss, catching France's lip with his teeth, he could only moan and buck back against England, needing more. Waves of pleasure rolled over him with every thrust England made, filling his mind with nothing but bliss. Fuck, he had forgotten just how good England could be.

He could feel his nails dig into England's shoulders, but he couldn't stop himself. When England just bit his lip and thrust harder, France took that as encouragement. He raked his nails down England's back, and the Englishman gasped. He leaned down to kiss France, pulling away to moan when France dragged his fingernails back up again.

"You… you b-bastard. Don't you dare stop."

France obliged, feeling England's cock throb inside of him in response to the pain. One of England's hands moved up to the base of France's neck, taking ahold of the long, wavy locks of hair and pulling slightly. France groaned, that added pleasure only bringing him closer to the edge. He bit his lip hard enough to taste blood, and England leaned in to lick it away.

He thrust harder, directly against France's sweet spot, yanking his head back by his hair. England nipped the side of France's ear before murmuring, "Cum."

France was helpless to stop himself at the sound of that, the pleasure just too intense. He wrapped his legs around England, pulling him deeper and biting England's shoulder to muffle his moans as he came, finally feeling that ecstasy he so desperately needed.

England held onto him, not even moving, and France heard him breathe in sharply through his nose. He realised that England was right on the very edge, that one little things would push him over, so he tightened his teeth on England's shoulder and grabbed the Englishman's hips, yanking him forward as deep as he could, and he felt England shake with pleasure before a soft, relieved groan spilled from his lips.

France felt England's release fill him, but instead of making him feel sated or calm like it usually did, it made him whine quietly, and he realized he wasn't done for the night just yet. He removed his teeth from England's shoulder, catching his breath and letting England collapse on him.

"Fuck, I needed that." England sighed, laying his head on France's chest and breathing heavily, his softened member slipping out of France. He lay there for a couple minutes, just catching his breath.

France decided to take a peek at England's back, just to see what kind of damage he had done. Several long, angry red scratches led from the base of his neck down to the small of his back, and France smirked. "At least I didn't draw blood this time."

"I think I did." England poked at France's side where his nails had dug in, and then he sighed. "Yes, I did."

"Well, I'm not complaining."

"What, have I rubbed off on you?"

"You could say that." France smoothed England's hair down, and England brushed a few stray strands out of France's face.

"Not too rough?"

"If anything, not rough enough."

England rolled his eyes. "You know you're going to regret it in the morning anyways."

"Oh, I know my ass is going to hurt. But if I can help it, so will yours."

"Oh?" England lifted himself up, one eyebrow quirked at France. "And just what makes you say that?"

France wiggled out from underneath England, smirking and waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Just a hunch."

"I thought you forfeited for the night."

"Did I say that?"

"Yes, you did." England sat up, putting his hands on his hips. "And I think I'll leave now."

"You don't really want to go, do you?" France stretched out on the bed, crossing his arms behind his head and letting his legs fall open slightly. England hesitated for a second; obviously ogling him, then went to stand up.

"Actually, you're wrong. I have a perfectly good room of my own right across the hall. I'm leaving."

France grabbed his wrist. "That's where you're wrong, _cher_."

England glared at him and hissed, "Let go, France. I'm not in the mood."

"Not in the mood?" France laughed, looking England up and down. "That's why you're already half-hard."

England looked down and glared at his member, then tried to shake France off. "That's nothing. Now really, let me go."

France tugged him back onto the bed, placing a finger over his lips. "Shh. Don't deny it, _Angleterre,_ you know you want to. Just admit it."

"France…" England murmured it, still glaring at him, and France knew that he was trying to be reproachful. Really though, it had come out as more of a breathy whisper that went straight to France's groin.

So he ran a finger down England's neck and murmured, "Yes?"

"You're a right son of a bitch."

"Why, thank you." France rested his hands on England's hips, leaning forward to breathe in his ear, "I hate you too." He flipped England over onto the bed, and the other man pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, glaring at France over his shoulder.

"That was completely unnecessary."

"But it was fun, _non?_"

"Arsehole."

France laughed, rubbing his hands up and down England's thighs, smirking when he felt the other man squeeze them shut. "Oh, I know. Spread your legs for me now,_ Angleterre._" England clamped his legs shut tighter, and France raised an eyebrow. "You're just asking for it, aren't you?"

"In fewer words, I suppose." England glanced back over his shoulder and winked at France, who sighed.

"You leave me no choice… well, I can't exactly say I'm sorry." He reached one hand around England's front, teasing the tip of his member, and used his other hand to dig his nails into England's leg, smirking at the sharp intake of breath he heard.

England tensed all over, and his erection throbbed in France's hand. "Not enough…" he murmured, rocking his hips forward slightly. France leaned his head down, nipping his way down England's back until he reached the swell of his arse. He moved his head to one side, kissing England's ass lightly before biting him, sinking his teeth in far enough for England to cry out, "Fuck!" He shivered, and when France moved his hand to stroke along the inside of his thighs, England parted them right away. "Oh _god,_ France…"

France lifted his head up. "What is it, _mon ange?_"

"Just… fuck."

France laughed darkly, running a finger up the length of England's cock. "We'll get to that. But first…" he held his hand up to England's mouth. "Suck."

England took the fingers into his mouth, and France got distracted for a moment by the way he ran his tongue over them, moaning softly as France continued to toy with his member. France moved his fingers in and out a bit, tempted to just spin England around and fuck his mouth, shove his cock down England's throat over and over, and he knew that England probably wouldn't protest. He got off on that, and France knew that much from experience. When was the last time they had done that? Was in on the plane back from Moscow a while back, or was it on the deck of that pool in Spain when America was having a nap only a few deck chairs away?

France decided it didn't matter, and then pulled his fingers out of England's mouth. He trailed them down his back to his entrance, rubbing around a bit just to tease England before sliding one in. He let his other hands stray from England's cock, instead moving up to play with his nipples a bit, just light little pinches that he knew would drive England nuts.

He heard England moan softly, so he leaned forward to press a kiss to England's back. "Tell me when," he murmured against the skin, pumping his finger in and out gently. England spread his legs further, clenching his fists into the bedsheets.

"More," he breathed, and France nodded. He slipped another inside, speeding up his fingers bit by bit and pressing right against England's prostate. As much as England liked his pain, France wasn't about to take him without enough preparation. That would likely hurt both of them beyond the point of pleasure. He spread England open with his fingers, stretching him, and England pressed his hips back. "Hurry up."

France didn't reply, instead choosing to nip at England's shoulder and latch on, sucking until he had left a mark. He moved his head down again, but instead of biting, he moved his fingers apart again, spreading England open. He thrust his tongue alongside his fingers, and England gasped, looking over his shoulder. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He pushed France's head back, and the Frenchman smirked.

"Oh, come on. We both know you like it."

"A little warning would be nice!"

"But where's the fun in that?" France leaned his head in again, running his tongue over England's entrance, and England moaned.

"Hnng… get to it, already!"

"I think I'd like to play with you just a little bit longer, _Angleterre._" He thrust his tongue back inside of England, feeling a shiver run through the other nation's entire body. He moved it in and out slowly, closing his eyes and moving his fingers in time with the thrusts of his tongue, knowing that the pleasure would get to England soon enough. He wouldn't actually beg, but he would start to get desperate. And that turned France on more than England could ever know.

Sure enough, when France sped up his tongue and fingers, brushing against England's prostate with each thrust, England let out a quiet, mewling moan. He slapped his hand over his mouth right away, trying to muffle it, but France still heard it. He pulled his head away and took out one of his fingers, leaving only one inside of England. He stroked England's sweet spot slowly, gently, feeling England tighten around his finger.

"More," England moaned, "Damn it, France, more!" he clenched the bedsheets in his fists, and England could tell he was clenching his teeth as well.

"But what if I like just doing this?" France stopped moving his finger completely, just pressing against England's prostate until he was positively squirming on the bed, trying to hold back his voice.

Eventually, England gave in, letting out a long, low groan. He looked over his shoulder at France, his whole body trembling slightly. "Please, just fuck me already! I can't take it anymore!"

The look in his eyes, the want, the _need_, it all went straight to France's cock. Suddenly, he was tired of teasing England. He didn't want to wait anymore. "_Certainement, mon cher._ You know that's all you had to say."

France pulled his fingers out, spitting into his hand and slicking up his cock. He positioned himself behind England, leaning over him and pressing the head of his member against England's entrance. The Englishman rocked back against him with a soft groan, taking the first couple inches on his own, and France moaned. He leaned forward, pressing forward until he was all the way inside of England, and nipped the back of the other man's neck.

He sighed, surrounded by perfect, tight heat, and he pressed a kiss right behind England's ear. "You really need it this time, don't you?"

"Shut up," England breathed, and France laughed quietly.

"I like it." He rubbed his hands along England's sides. "Just tell me when."

"_Now,_ you son of a bitch!"

France didn't reply, just pulling his hips back and snapping them forward, relishing in the loud moan that tore itself from England's throat. After a couple thrusts into that exquisite warmth, he let his eyes slip shut. _Fuck,_ England was tight. He was hot, slick, and absolutely heavenly to be inside.

France leaned over him more, driving himself deeper and deeper, and when he felt England tremble underneath him, he gripped his hips even tighter and thrust even harder. It just felt so _good_, to be able to pound into him without stopping or worrying if he was being too rough. No, he could let instinct take over and fuck England as hard as he wanted.

He slid one hand up England's chest to play with his nipples, tugging and pinching them just hard enough for England to moan in pleasure-pain, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps and France thrust into him over and over.

France latched onto England's shoulder, biting and sucking the skin until he had left a mark. He moved over to the other side and left one there as well, then back to the other side, planning to cover England's back with love bites. England tried to shake him off, growling a bit, but France felt him tighten even more, heard him let out a soft, almost inaudible whine, and he smirked.

"If it feels good, just say so."

"Shut up and fuck me."

France laughed breathlessly. "I had no intention of stopping." He let his voice drop as he murmured huskily into England's ear, "_Angleterre._"

England groaned quietly, thrusting back against France's cock, taking him deeper inside. "Ahh… please, just…"

"Just what?" France moved his other hand up to play with England's erection, still letting the fingers of his other hand dance around England's nipples, and he gently bit the back of England's neck. He knew the combination of touches would drive England crazy, just the right amount of careful roughness and pleasure to make him lose all coherent thought.

Sure enough, when he struck England's prostate dead-on with his next thrust, England moaned and tipped his head back. "Ah! O-oh, _fuck_…" He turned his head to the side, kissing along France's jaw until their lips met. He sucked France's tongue into his mouth and lifted one hand off the bed to hold France's head there, his hand cupping France's cheek roughly.

France kept thrusting, kept touching England, and he felt the other man start to shake with pleasure. He got even _tighter_, almost vice-like around France, and his member pulsed in France's hand. It was too much for him, and France could tell he was about to come.

He wasn't far behind, his cock feeling harder and more sensitive each time he thrust into that hot, almost painfully tight cavern, and he knew he was close. He broke the kiss to breath, leaning his forehead against England's and moaning when England's hand ran through his hair gently, curling into the locks at the nape of his neck.

England's eyelids fluttered as he struggled to keep them open, and soft, short moans spilled from his lips with every thrust. France twisted his nipple sharply, suddenly, and England's eyes squeezed shut. He positively trembled then, his release spurting onto the bed, a drawn-out cry of France's name on his lips.

France thrust into him one more time, as deep as he could, and let himself go over the edge. His mind washed over with pleasure, and he rocked his hips slowly into England, filling him with shot after shot of cum. He moaned, "_Angleterre…" _as softly as he could, leaning on him for a moment and just trying to catch his breath.

Once he thought he could actually move again, he pulled out and rolled over to one side. He sighed happily, completely sated at last. England rolled over onto his side as well, pushing his hair out of his eyes and still gasping for breath. Neither of them bothered to say anything, still too busy coming down from the high of orgasm.

France sat up a bit, grabbing a box of tissues from the bedside table and dropping it on England's head. England glared at him, mumbled some inaudible insult, and sat up as well. He wiped himself up as much as he could, chucking the box back at France when he was done and sighing. "Well, I should get back to my room." He went to stand up, winced, and sat back down. "Never mind."

France was wiping himself up by then, and he smirked. "Sore already?"

"Yes, you arsehole."

France chuckled and tried to stand up himself, then made a face. "_Bon, _that makes two of us."

England rolled over, pressing his face into one of the pillows. "Mmph. You'll owe me for this later."

"Hm?"

"I'm letting you share the bed with me."

"Pardon? This is my room, _Angleterre._ I'm letting _you_ share _my _bed."

"Whatever."

France laughed quietly, smoothing England's hair down. "Did I actually fuck your brains out this time?"

"Oh, shut up." England lifted his head out of the pillow to glare at France. "I'm still not opposed to shoving you out of bed."

"Very well." France smiled and lay down on the opposite side of the bed, facing away from England. "I'm assuming you don't want to cuddle."

"You got that right." England pulled the sheet over himself and rolled on his side so he was facing away from France. "Now really, shut up. I'm tired and want to sleep."

"Fine with me. And this time, please don't kick in your sleep."

"I won't kick if you don't talk in your sleep."

France rolled his eyes, sighed, and then closed his eyes, quite ready to go to sleep. He heard England move around a little, and a lamp switched off, leaving them in total darkness. That was the last thing France remembered before he fell asleep.

He woke up in the middle of the night, not knowing why, and peeked at the alarm clock. It was only half past one, so what woke him up? France heard a quiet sigh behind him and peeked over his shoulder, noticing that England had scooted closer to him in his sleep and was now curled up against him, his face pressed in-between France's shoulder blades. France smiled. He was really quite adorable when he was asleep, not yelling and carrying on like he usually did. France rolled over and kissed him on the cheek, planning to just fall back asleep.

England's eyes fluttered open and he blinked several times before narrowing his eyes at France and pushing him away. "I said no cuddling."

"You're the one who snuggled up to me, _cher_."

"Nonsense!" England scoffed, then looked around and realised France was right. "Oh bollocks, I suppose I did."

France laughed softly and rolled back over. "I don't blame you; it's quite cold in here."

"France?"

"_Oui?_"

"Fuck you."

"I'm afraid I'm a little too tired for that right now, but if you insist…"

England groaned in annoyance and picked up a pillow, putting it over France's head. "You know that's not what I meant, you idiot!"

France pulled the pillow out of England's hands and tossed it at his head. "I was kidding, _mon cher._" He smiled playfully at England, and then sighed. "Really though, we need to sleep. People will get suspicious if both of us are tired tomorrow, and you know America will ask questions."

"True, so shut up and let me sleep."

"You started it."

"Whatever." England lay back down and turned over. He did, however, scoot so his back was pressed against France's. "It's cold," he muttered, pulling the blankets over them.

"Of course," France replied, closing his eyes. He felt England squirm around and cracked an eye open. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Then stop wiggling."

England sighed. "Well, is it really my fault that your cum is _still _dripping out my arse?"

France smirked. "Technically, yes. You started it."

"Started what?"

"Trying to seduce me. Remember, in the hallway?"

"Moron, I was _yelling_ at you!"

"Well, with you it always starts out that way."

"Hmph."

France rolled over onto his back and reached over, feeling England's ass. "You're right, it is still coming out."

"_Pervert!_ Get your hands _off!_"

"_Bon, bon, ça va. _No need to yell, I was just curious."

"And curiosity killed the cat." England reached over and whacked France upside the head. "So stop being curious or I'll kill you."

France smiled. "Of course. But only since you asked."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Figure it out." He moved his hand away and closed his eyes, ready to go back to sleep. "Good night, _mon amour._"

"Hmph."

Just as France was drifting off, he felt England turn over and move closer to him, wrapping one arm around his waist and kissing him on the cheek. "And you think _I'm_ cute when I'm asleep, you bloody gorgeous bastard." He sighed. "I hate you, but I can't deny that I love you too."

France smiled, opening his eyes and stroking England's cheek with one hand. "I love and hate you too."

England rolled his eyes, murmuring, "Of course you weren't really asleep. Arsehole." He lay his head down on France's chest, and France stroked his hair gently.

"Sleep well, _mon ange._"

"Same to you, pervert."

The next morning, after England woke him up with a pillow to the face and an "Oy, I'm leaving. Go have a shower, you reek of sex," France cleaned up and went downstairs to breakfast. He ended up sitting next to Canada and America, who always seemed to stick to each other when they went overseas for these conferences, probably because Canada didn't want to get forgotten (or sat on) again.

Canada smiled at France. "Good morning, France. Did you sleep well?"

"_Oui, _quite. You?"

"Pretty well. I mean, it was sort of…" he trailed off, shrugging and taking a sip of his coffee, and America turned to France.

"We ate _way_ too much last night. Seriously, I thought someone was going to have to roll me back to the hotel from the restaurant."

England appeared suddenly, sitting down with his toast and tea, rolling his eyes at America. "That's because you have absolutely no self-control."

"Hey you raised me!"

"Not to behave like that, I didn't." England took a sip of tea and glared at France, who in turn put his hands up defensively.

"What did I do?"

"You know bloody well what." England sighed and rolled his eyes again.

"Yeah," America piped up, "he's right. Way to keep everyone up last night. Seriously, dude, whoever you had in your room… damn." He shook his head. "You guys were _super_ loud. You really got some, didn't you?"

France smirked at the positively mortified look on England's face, chuckling when England hid himself behind a newspaper. "But of course," he replied to America, "I needed a bit of stress relief after yesterday's events, and I knew exactly how to get it."

Canada choked on a bite of pancakes, coughing until America whacked him on the back several times. England tsked and lowered the newspaper, apparently having composed himself enough to speak. "Please, none of us even want to _think_ about that, let alone hear the tales of your sexual prowess, France."

"You're all just jealous that none of you can get laid." France smiled slyly at England, who raised an eyebrow and smiled back.

"Oh, we can if we want to, believe you me."

America frowned, looking back and forth between the two of them. "I'm missing something here, aren't I?"

Canada shook his head. "You don't want to know, trust me."

"What, about Iggy's sex life?"

"Well, that too."

"What do you mean, 'that too'?"

"Nothing."

France and England looked at Canada and then at each other. "Bugger it all," England murmured, "how does _he _know?"

France coughed quietly. "I think we may have forgotten he was in the room one time."

* * *

_Crack ending is crack. You know you love it! anyways, thanks for reading, and drop a review if you like! Let me know what you think._


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